Incentive
by lisek16
Summary: s/v Sloane offers Syd an incentive. (Parts 1-4 up) R/R please.


Title : Incentive  
Author : LiseK16 (lisek16@yahoo.com)  
Rating : G I suppose.   
Disclaimer :: if you believe I own the rights to Alias then you need to get your head checked. I also do not own the rights to Rene Magritte. I do own the DVD "Scotland, Pa" which I was watching while typing this up. I do not own the rights to it though…  
Author's note : Rene Magritte is a surrealist painter, He painted random things that when put together make no sense, but when viewed in one of his paintings seem interwoven. With that said and done...  
*****************^o^******************  
PART ONE:  
  
It had been a long flight back from Italy. I could hardly hold my eyes open long enough to find the window seat, let alone to listen to the on-flight announcements which explained a 3 hour delay in our take-off schedule due to inclement weather. I had simply found my seat and crashed. I woke up just as the pilot was welcoming us back to LAX.   
  
I gathered my luggage and called Francie. I had opted to leave my car in her possession. Hers was in the shop for the twelfth time this month and it was the least I could do. I dialed our number and after several rings the answering machine picked up:  
  
"Hi, you have reached Sydney and Francie. We are unable to come to the phone right now…" I hung up abruptly. Where was she? She hadn't told me she was going out, but I suppose I was never around long enough for her to tell me. So I tried her cell, and I was directly connected to her voicemail; because it wasn't on. I tried the restaurant and Julio, one of the waiters told me she wasn't supposed to come in.   
  
I decided to call Will's cell phone, even though I was sure she wasn't with him. Though it seemed more likely as the possibilities dwindled.   
  
He picked up on the first ring. His voice was friendly and his welcome home was warm.  
  
"Do you know where she is?" I asked, knowing that my hostile tone would not go over well. But I was worried.   
  
I had decided to take a cab home amidst my numerous phone calls.  
  
"Where who is?" he asked.  
  
"Francie." I said in an exasperated tone.   
  
"Never mind" I mumbled as the driver approached my house, "Just meet me at my place."  
  
I came home. I unlocked the door just to find nothing. No note. No message on the answering machine. Nothing. Something just didn't feel right about this. Francie was social, but it was a Monday night after 9 pm and if she wasn't with Will, or at the restaurant I couldn't fathom where she could be.   
  
I took the cordless phone, my two CIA cell phones and my SD-6 pager and lined them up on the glass coffee table. There they were, just lying about in some surreal Rene Magritte inspired scene. I intensely stared at them. Hoping, begging for one of them to ring. I wanted to know that she was alright. I wanted to know she was safe. I expected her to be the only safe one in my life. She was the only one who hadn't truly been exposed to the danger. I was worried for her, because in my life danger is inevitable.  
  
The phone chose to ring. The CIA cell phone issued by Devlin rang. Melodiously it echoed a loud verse of the Nokia tune I had heard a thousand times before. The ringing ceased when I picked up the phone.  
  
"Miss Bristow. What a pleasure to speak to you outside of work." a familiar voice stated.  
  
"Let's cut the formalities" I angrily bit out. The last thing I needed was Sark to be calling me.  
  
"I agree Sydney". He responded. "I'd love to see you this evening. A few drinks… maybe a trip down memory lane…"  
  
I had a funny feeling that Sark wasn't calling me to get a drink, and even if that was the reason for his call I wouldn't accept.   
  
"Why are you really calling?" I suspiciously asked.  
  
"I don't know how you can afford to speak so candidly. You do have a roommate don't you? You wouldn't want her to overhear something that could …" he began, but I cut him off.  
  
"Where is she?" I asked.  
  
"Honestly, Sydney… I have no idea what you are talking about…" he smugly answered.   
  
He must feel pretty proud of himself to rile me up in only 30 seconds. I didn't have time to thwart his pride. He knew something about Francie, that's what worried me. He shouldn't be two steps in front of me.  
  
"Where is SHE?" I demanded an answer.   
  
" If you are referring to your verbose friend that you currently reside with; I believe she had a meeting with Arvin Sloane…" he began, but that was all I needed to hear. Listening to him any longer would have been a waste of time. So I hung up.  
  
After all as soon as I disconnected his call, the light bulb in my head was burning bright as ever. I had a plan.  
PART TWO:   
  
After the disturbing call from Sark, I called my father. He told me to meet him at the joint task-force facility to discuss the 'situation'. I grabbed my backpack with a change of clothes and Will arrived just as I was about to 'go for a jog'.   
  
"Let's take a jog." I said as I began to race him down the street. He willingly followed as he was formulating half a dozen questions as to what was going on. He quietly accepted chasing me down the dark streets but he became a little suspicious as I punched in the weekly code into the broken pay phone in the underpass. He looked a little skeptical, but he knew this wasn't just a jog.  
  
"Why are we here? And where is here by the way?" he asked.  
  
"Sark called. Sloane has Francie."  
  
"Why here?" he asked as we made our way down the quarter mile stretch to the facility.  
  
"This is the CIA special Task-force facility. We are meeting my father here."  
  
Before we even made our way to the concealed entrance; my father stepped out of the shadows.  
  
"Sydney." He said in that cold vacant voice that he was prone to using. He glared at Will through the corner of his eye. "Are you sure you weren't followed?"   
  
"We were careful."  
  
"They were surveying for trackers, but I don't always trust the techs. We don't need your mother's location compromised." He gruffly said as he led us into the facility.   
Will was practically gaping in awe, but came to his senses quickly enough.  
  
"Wait a minute. Your mother?" He incredulously asked.  
  
"She's harmless." I reassured him.  
  
Before Will could emit another question or quandary my father began the inquisition.  
  
"Do you believe him?" he asked.  
  
"Sark claims Francie is having a meeting with Sloane."   
  
"I didn't ask what he said; I asked if you believe him." My father restated his question.   
  
"I don't know."   
  
"The answer is you can not. You can not take anything he says at face value." He said as he answered his own question.  
  
"We should locate Sloane, just in case."  
  
"I'm already on it, I've placed a call with security section and they have him at a restaurant downtown with a young woman." Jack stated.  
  
"Is the woman Francie?"   
  
"We don't have confirmation of that." He said.  
  
Just as my father said that, Vaughn appeared.   
  
"What's going on? Kendall called me and told me to meet him here about a situation." Vaughn said.  
He offered me a small smile and said hello to Will; before he was filled in.  
  
"We think Francie is with Sloane. Sark called my CIA cell phone about a half an hour ago and informed me that Sloane and Francie are having a meeting."  
  
Vaughn asked; "Do we have confirmation?"  
  
"Not enough to do very much."  
  
"Sloane's at a restaurant downtown, casually bump into him and you'll know for sure." My father said.  
  
"What's the plan?"   
  
"We don't have time to wait for Kendall. Against my better judgment I'm sending you check up on the situation." My father said. "Vaughn will be your back-up." He continued.  
PART THREE:  
"Won't that be dangerous? Wouldn't that compromise what we are doing here? Sloane doesn't know about Vaughn and if he sees him, he'll check up and see he works for the real CIA…" I was babbling, I couldn't believe the CIA who spouted the importance of obeying protocol was sending Vaughn and I on a date.   
  
"Shouldn't I go?" asked Will, who had regained his voice. He was no longer shocked and speechless.  
  
"No." my father abruptly stated. "Vaughn has more field experience… if something was to happen…" you could hear the apprehension in my father's voice. He was sending Vaughn in because he trusted him.   
  
"How are we going to handle this?" Vaughn asked as we exchanged glances.  
  
"Go in, pretend you're on a date and coincidently run into Francie… if the woman is Francie." My father elaborated.  
  
"Isn't this the kind of exposure that we have been avoiding?"   
  
"It's worth the risk. If you appear to be on a date, Sloane won't question it. If he does I'll tell him a friend of mine at the state department met you, and you decided to go out. I'm not worried." My father said.  
  
I wasn't worried either. I was going out with Michael Vaughn. IN PUBLIC. I'd actually get to introduce my best friend to my handler. Maybe it wasn't the perfect scenario, but I couldn't complain. Well I suppose I easily could, after my best friend was possibly with the devil himself.   
  
So I excused myself and changed into a strappy black dress, heels and decked on the jewelry. We had to make this believable after all. I pulled my hair up and raced back out to my father and Vaughn. Will was still there as well. He and Vaughn were having a serious discussion which I interrupted as upon my entrance. I seemed to have their undivided attention.   
  
My father handed me a pair of earrings which doubled as tracking device as well as being beautiful. Will hugged me and whispered into my ear "You look beautiful. Good luck."  
  
And with that, Vaughn and I left the building and his CIA issued silver Ford Escort. We hadn't spoken since I changed. We hadn't said anything.   
  
I decided to break the ice. "How am I going to introduce you?" I asked. It was a good question in my opinion. Calling him Michael would hint to Francie that this was the Michael I worked with. The "Frame guy", the guy I have a crush on… If Francie was with Sloane, and if she believed this was the Michael from work then it would seem odd that Sloane, my "employer" didn't know him.   
  
"Michael Vaughn isn't satisfactory?" he asked me in a light hearted voice. This obviously wasn't a stressful mission, after all what could Sloane do to us in a well lit, populated restaurant? It was nice to go on a mission without the danger factor. This was a first. the only danger I could fathom was Vaughn being exposed, and in turn the discovery that my father and I were double agents… and the location of my mother... I was going to hope for the best and disregard those minor details.  
  
"If you say your name is Michael, Francie might say something to Sloane." I tried to conceal what she might say to save myself from embarrassment, but it was going to come out one way or another.  
  
"What would she say?" he asked.  
  
"She might… insinuate that you work with me at the bank…"  
  
"Why would she say that?" he asked me with a smile.  
  
"Because I mentioned you to her, as 'Michael from work.' " I said trying to play it down.  
  
Vaughn began to blush and didn't make me elaborate. "Then who am I?"  
  
"You could use an alias… or…" I began.  
  
"Your dad said I work at the state department, Sloane could check the records easily. It won't look as suspicious if my alias works at the State department. So I guess I'm left with no choice but to be Eric Weiss." He said.   
  
We both laughed nervously.  
  
I sighed in relief, knowing that there was a chance that we might actually pull this off. Just then, we pulled up to the restaurant, and Vaughn and I exchanged looks.  
PART FOUR:  
  
If I ever chose to think about Arvin Sloane's taste in fine dining I would have easily come to the conclusion that a dimly lit, leather upholstered bar would be his dream come true. I couldn't picture him at a place with a gingham tablecloth or disposable silverware. LIME was a mix between the two extremes. It had the leather seating and sophistication, but also the McDonald's chic.  
  
There were colorful murals of the Italian countryside and aged photographs from the turn of the last century depicting cooking and love. The more I saw of the restaurant, the more it hinted to me that it was the ultimate contradiction to Francie's restaurant.  
  
Sleek, modern and simplistic. It lended a contemporary flare to the warm red walls. Stainless steel and glass tables lined her dining room.  
  
I couldn't imagine Francie voluntarily agreeing to meet Arvin Sloane in this smoky but sophisticated environment.  
  
As I was observing the atmosphere, I was oblivious to the fact that we were already at the podium with a young hostess waiting to seat us. "Can I help you?" She robotically asked not even bothering to look up at us. She just continued to file her manicured nails. I quickly scanned the dining area behind her for Sloane or Francie. No such luck.   
  
"We'd like a table." I responded and Vaughn agreed. She put down the file and grabbed two menus.   
  
I supposed we could look for them under the pretense that we were lost on the way to the bathrooms… but that excuse seemed rather flimsy.   
  
"Here you are" the hostess quickly muttered as she eyed Vaughn flirtatiously. "Your waitress, Carmela, will be out in a minute. Can I get you anything to drink… while your waiting…" she continued focusing her question towards Vaughn. It was as if I was invisible. At least her one-sided flirting gave me a chance to come up with a plan.   
  
"I have a question…" I looked at her lopsided name tag which read Penny, "Penny… Do you have a V.I.P. room?"   
  
She turned to face me and I could see she was annoyed, "no. We don't." she began. She turned back towards Vaughn and said "We do have a private room upstairs which we open up to regulars and celebrities…"  
  
  
"Really?" I began as I feigned an interest. "My husband and I were interested in having a party here, mind if we sneak a peak?" Vaughn blushed at my enunciation of husband. I only referred to him as my husband because I thought it would stop her obvious flirting. We hadn't even been on a real date yet and I had already deemed him my beloved. Well the thought had crossed my mind several (hundred) times.   
  
She frowned at the word, and mumbled "it should be fine" before daring to give me a glare that would have taken Medusa by surprise. She escorted us to a flight of stairs and sweetly said to Vaughn with her back to me, "It's up there" and began to strut up the narrow stair case. She tripped on the third step from the top and I took it upon myself to pose another question.   
  
"Is there a bathroom on this level?" The excuse might be flimsy, but we might be desperate later and I needed to at least have an alternative to my plan.  
  
Vaughn took it upon himself to elaborate, "Her grandmother has a bladder the size of a peanut." The girl, Penny, of course burst out into a set of perfectly orchestrated giggles.   
  
"Really now, Grandma paid for the wedding, do we really have to make false accusations. My grandmother is not the problem. It's his aunt who should have a port-a-potty in her car…" I said with a straight face, which took a lot of effort.   
  
Penny interrupted our bathroom banter: "We do, Mr… I'm sorry I didn't catch your name…"  
  
"That's right you didn't. Could you check and see if April 17th is booked yet?"  
  
Penny was one step ahead, "I'm sure it isn't." She smiled at Vaughn and he took a step backwards and gasped onto the railing. He looked a little scared of our blonde hostess.  
  
Vaughn took advantage of her undivided attention, and asked, "could you just double check, for us?"  
  
She giggled and nodded her head and as she trotted down the stairs, I called out to her, "Also can I see a list of all the meals you cater and their ingredients…his cousin is allergic to everything…"  
  
I heard her mumble some curse word under her breath, and responded, "I'll be back." This was followed by an exasperated sigh.  
  
"That bought us a few minutes. You ready?" Vaughn said.  
  
"No. but I have to be."  
  
"I wanted to tell you earlier… you look really beautiful…" he darted his eyes and looked at the door. I could see his checks flush.  
  
"Thank you; you clean up nice too…" Good enough to eat, I thought, and continued aloud by saying, "Let's check before she comes back." 


End file.
